Scrabble Wars
by fairytalemanipulator
Summary: SEQUEL TO SCRABBLE WARS ADDED, SEE CHAPTER 3 FOR INFO! Sam and Dean are known for their hunting prowess. But who shall prevail in the ultimate challenge... a game of Scrabble? Brotherly banter, review please!
1. Sam Wins

**Title: Scrabble Wars**

**Author: fairytalemanipulator**

**Spoilers: Uh, none?**

**Disclaimer: Supernatural ain't mine.**

**A/N: This just kind of popped into my head, and wouldn't leave me alone…I thought a little humor would mix well with the angst we are all _so _good at doling out. Just a cute little one-shot inspired by my cousins and their stupid games of Scrabble. REVIEWS MAKE MY WORLD GO ROUND. PERIOD.**

**A lot of swearing, but mostly brotherly banter. Sam is a little happier in this than we have seen him before, but otherwise I hope it's all in character.**

**Summary: Sam and Dean are known for their hunting prowess. But who shall prevail in the ultimate challenge- a game of Scrabble?**

…………

"Profane. P-R-O—"

"That's not a word!"

Sam stared at his brother, whose eyes challenged the word he had just laid on the board.

"You're just sore because you're losing,"

"Shut the hell up. I am _not _losing. I know for a motherfucking _fact _that you are sabotaging me,"

"Dean! It's Scrabble! How the hell do you sabotage Scrabble?"

Dean snarled, crossing his arms and leaning back in the rickety chair.

"Maybe the dust from the board is getting in your brain," Sam grinned childishly as he blew a rainshower of dust over his brother. Dean swatted it away, coughing, alarmed at the immense amounts of brown matter hovering in the air.

"Sam! Seriously! Old Scrabble boards that have been in ancient hotel rooms for God knows how long could be extremely poisonous! Shit, dude, what if you just blew a cloud of asbestos in my face?" Alert to this new possibility, Dean waved a hand in front of his face as if to ward off any more particles. Sam ignored him, his tongue jutting out between his teeth as he concentrated on the game.

"If you ever do that to me again, Sammy-boy—"

"It's not asbestos, Dean," Sam said tiredly, Dean's whining breaking his concentration.

"How the fuck do you know? It could be goddam _anthrax _for—"

"It's a dust-color. Dust is a dust color. Asbestos is _white _Anthrax is _white._"

"If you _ever_…" Dean muttered to himself, conceding defeat while dusting off his black shirt. "Too much dust on the fucking board…Damn allergies…Gonna shove some _asbestos_ up your—"

"POISON!" Sam shouted, disturbing Dean's t-shirt cleansing ritual.

"What?" Dean looked around, getting ready to grab the knife hidden in his back pocket.

Sam didn't bother to answer, instead preferring to arrange the tiles on the board in a precise arrangement. "Triple word score, bitch!"

Dean groaned. "Is this what you do for fun around Stanford? Scrabble parties? You must be so proud,"

"It's not my fault I know actual words instead of just curses, stuff that isn't just—"

"Profane?" Dean supplied with a shit-eating grin.

"Ha. Ha. Funny. Not." Sam calculated the score, tapping the pencil across the yellowing, wrinkled paper. _Wonder how long this board's been in here. Actually, it's probably better if I didn't find out…_

Sam pushed the dirty scorepad over to his brother, teeth bitten pencil on top. Dean leaned forward an inch to see the score, feet on top of the round table.

"Holy hell!" Dean shouted, pushing back in his chair so fast that he tipped over. Quickly righting himself, Dean jumped up to take another look at the score. "What the fuck? How are you beating me by eighty points?"

Sam was in fits of laughter, therefore unavailable for a satisfactory answer to Dean's pressing dilemma.

Dean fixed the chair, which was now creaking audibly, and set himself down calmly. He watched his younger brother with a wary eye. _How did he get me to play this? Scrabble was always the game I played to spell out dirty words while Sam took it all in. Damn, I'm getting old._

"I'm…good…" Sam wheezed, snorting.

"So you remembered to take your happy pills this morning, huh? Misread the dosage?"

Sam didn't bother to reply, knowing he was winning the round. Dean gave his rack of tiles the evil eye.

"Here. P-I-S-S."

"You can't use 'piss' as a valid word!"

"_You can't use 'piss' as a valid word!_" Dean mocked his younger brother as he added points to his score.

"It's not a word by Scrabble definition, dude!"

"Yeah? You got a Scrabble dictionary up your ass along with the other things you carry in there, so we can get this straight?"

The bickering silenced, and the duo glared at each other from opposite sides of the table.

"Fine."

"Good."

"I'm taking pity on you, 'cause you're losing,"

"Shut up."

"Here," Sam graciously extracted four tiles out of the suspicious-smelling velvet bag of Scrabble tiles and handed them to Dean.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Uh huh,"

"Shut up,"

"No, _you _shut up."

"No, YOU shut up."

Once again, tense silence prevailed as Dean did, indeed, shut up. Suddenly, he rose from the table. "I gotta take a leak. You move one of those words _an inch _and you will be hanging on that coat hook by the door, you unders—" Dean was almost past his brother when Sam innocently, stealthily, and quite sneakily stuck his foot out.

Dean dropped to the ground like a rock. And didn't move.

"Dean?" Sam grew concerned, and got out of his chair. _Oh shit. What do I tell Dad? 'Sorry, I killed your eldest over a game of Scrabble'?_

"Dean!" Sam shook his brother's shoulder. He sighed in relief when Dean moved, only to choke on that sigh when Dean catapulted himself at his younger brother.

………………

It was, quite possibly, the most deranged wrestling match in the world. Full of flailing limbs, chokeholds, and "If you _ever.._." 's courtesy of Dean. When it was finished, both brothers lay tangled in a mess of limbs and sweat.

"Geroff me," Sam's voice was muffled through the back of Dean's shirt.

"Make me, bitch,"

"Can't breathe,"

Dean moved a little, obliging. "Nice moves there, Haley Joel. You're telling me you didn't see that coming?"

"Shut UP."

"No, YOU shut up."

"No. You. Shut. Up."

"No, _you_—"

"Did you lock the car?"

"Huh? Oh, shit!" Quick as a flash, Dean was off the floor and out the door, returning seconds later for his keys, which he had conveniently left on the table.

Sam chuckled to himself as he cleared off the board, leaving only a choice phrase or two to spell out Dean's fate.

When the older Winchester reentered the room two minutes later, Sam was in the shower singing a happy, tone-deaf version of some song Dean never wanted to hear.

"Dude, the doors were _already_—" Dean trailed off midsentence, eyeing the placement of the words on the board. It stated very clearly, in faded, bold print type:

FUCK YOU SORE LOSER

Dean fumed.

Sam had won this round.

But he should be afraid. Very afraid.

The Scrabble war had only begun.

**Please review, dear people!**


	2. Dean Wins

**Some of you mentioned that a sequel would be nice. So, I deliver. Don't you just love me? I have all the free time in the world now. I hope you enjoy the Scrabble Wars: Part Two, aka Chapter 2: Dean Wins.**

**Reviews rock my world!**

Sam was scared. Frightened. Afraid.

He was in the shower. In the bathroom. Alone.

He had heard Dean come in, heard the fuming reaction to the kind, brotherly message on the Scrabble board, and then…nothing.

That's what scared him. Because usually, when all was silent, he could bet that the big brother was planning something.

And Dean's planning? Oh, bloody hell. He might have not gone to college, but holy shit, could he wage a war.

Cautiously, Sam stepped out of the shower, the exhaust fan rattling above him. He glanced around his feet, making sure there was no trip wire or explosive device lying in wait. Wrapping a towel around his waist, Sam proceeded to the door. Taking a deep breath, he cracked it open one…two…three inches, and peered out.

Dean was nowhere to be seen.

Reassured, Sam opened the door wider, only to be confronted with his grinning brother sitting with ankles crossed on top of the table.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean greeted his brother. Sam looked at him, spying for anything out of the ordinary. _He's got something up his sleeve._

Dean shot an innocent grin at Sam. "I cleaned up the Scrabble board for ya,"

"Oh yeah?" Sam couldn't help himself. "I left a special present on there, just for you,"

Dean chortled, all in all, a very disconcerting sound. "Oh, yeah. That was hella funny,"

Sam almost dropped his towel right there. "Dean. You do _not _say hella."

"Oh, Sammy, I think I can do anything I want. After all, I did find something quite interesting in the glove compartment of my car. So amusing…" With that, Dean jumped of the table, and humming a sinister tune to himself, took out his gun cleaning kit and equipment.

Sam felt a bit unsettled, as Dean didn't once glance at the gun in his hands, his gaze focused on his brother, as he hummed what seemed to be the _Jaws _theme in his direction.

_Oh damn. He has a gun in his hands._

"Dean?"

No response, just louder humming. Sam grimaced.

"Dean."

This time, Sam didn't wait for a response. "What exactly did you find?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Dean hummed in a sing-song manner. _More like a Freddy Krueger manner._ He shot his brother a many-toothed grin as he polished the gun.

Sam sighed. He knew this game all too well. Pulling out his clothes, Sam dressed himself in a corner of the room, all while keeping an eye on his brother.

He came up with a plan.

"Hey, Dean?"

"What?"

"My watch is on the table, can you give it to me?"

"What am I, your fucking slave? Get it yourself, bitch,"

_Bingo._

Sam headed over to the table, his keen eyes taking in every ruffle on Dean's clothing. Something in his jacket pocket caught Sam's eye and he squinted as he reached the table. It was a piece of paper hanging out.

Reaching across for his watch, Sam made a quick grab for his brother's pocket, only to feel a clenching pain across his hand. He looked down and realized that he hadn't quite made it to Dean's pocket.

"You stupid ass. You think I didn't know what you were up to?"

_Oops._

There was only one thing to do now. So Sam launched Plan B. He tackled Dean, sending the table wobbling and chair flying. Effortlessly, without so much as a grunt, Dean pinned him as dead weight under his body.

"How the _hell_," Sam grunted, flailing under his older brother, "am I taller than you, but I can't…win…one…of…these?"

"That's what big brothers are for, Sammy-boy," Dean replied carelessly, withdrawing the wrinkly piece of paper from his jacket. "Since you want to know _so bad _what it is that I have here, why don't I share it with you?"

Dean cleared his throat, preparing to read as he unfolded the paper. He ignored his younger brother's protests and commands, hearing a random "asshole" or "immature" every now and then.

"Dear Peggy," Dean began, and Sam's eyes widened as he began his flailing double-time.

"_I can't sleep without thinking about you. I don't think I can be without you. When I first saw you_—"

"How the FUCK," Sam roared, breathless, "did you get your hands on that?"

"Watch that language, now, Sammy. I'm sure Peggy wouldn't appreciate that,"

"Are you REALLY twenty-six? Because you're acting about two right now."

"Well, then, I must be very…what's the word…_gifted _in order to be LITERATE at the toddling age, eh?" Dean rolled over on his brother, his wallet and keys in his back pocket leaving marks on Sam. Happily, he shook out the paper.

"Now, listen up, Sam," He cleared his throat. "Where was I? Oh, right. _When I first saw you in the lunch line, I fell in love with you. You are the beautifullest girl I have ever seen, and I want to marry you—_"

"Dean! Seriously! I thought I threw that away!" Sam's muscles tired, and he lay there like an animal at the chopping block.

"Maybe you should use the shredder next time."

"Maybe _you _should…should…" Sam sputtered, face reddening. "Not be such an ASS!"

"When did you write this? Fifth grade?" Dean ignored Sam, turning the paper over in his hands. "Wonder where Peggy is now."

"Dean, get _off _of me! This is…this is…"

Dean supplied him with words. "Gay? Embarrassing? Hopeless? A black hole?"

He cleared his throat again, ready to continue. "We were just getting to the good part. Okay. _…And I want to marry you. You have the beautifullest green eyes and the beautifullest red curls—_"

"Dean!"

"You want me to stop?"

"Yes! Please!"

"Okay," Dean folded up the letter and stuck it back in his pocket, reclining comfortably on his struggling brother.

"That's it?" Sam glared at the part of his brother that he could see…his ugly head. _Stupid head. It's all crooked._

"No. In your words, 'no duh',"

"What do you want me to do," Sam asked resignedly. He had been blackmailed countless times as a child, and was an expert at getting out of it. "Get your coffee for a week? Sit in the backseat for a month? Dance naked in the streets? Perform a satanic ritual outside a church?"

"No, the satanic ritual thing was a one time deal, you're not getting by that easy this time," Dean said distantly, thinking hard. There was silence for a moment.

"I smell something burning, Dean, don't think so hard," Sam huffed. He wiggled until he found a comfortable position within the zone of burning pain and sleeping limbs.

Dean snapped his fingers, a smile on his face. "I got it!"

"Really? Wow, good job,"

"A rematch."

"What?"

"You heard me, dipshit,"

"Scrabble?"

"No, Hi-Ho Cherry-O. What do you think? Use that Stanford noggin of yours,"

"What's the catch?"

"Well," Dean drew this out, making it as painful as possible. _Gosh, he has a lot of teeth,_ Sam thought as Dean's leering face came into view.

"We can only use dirty words. _Profane _curses, you might say,"

"You've got to be kidding me,"

"Taking the moral high-ground on this one?"

"No, but…that's just stupid, Dean,"

"No, it's not. Here, I'll lay out my game plan for you. Because I feel _sorry _for you," Dean said acidly. "I obviously know more dirty words, and dirty things—" Here Dean paused to smile, "—than you. Secondly, if I win, you have a bit of a price to pay,"

"What _kind _of a price, dude? I'm as broke as you are,"

"Shaving cream doesn't cost that much,"

"Not following," Sam lay his head back and closed his eyes. _What did I get myself into this time?_

"You don't need to follow, kid. Just know that you will be writing some things on the rear windshield of my beautiful baby,"

"And if I win this game of dirty Scrabble?"

"Same deal."

"No."

"You don't have a choice."

"Yes, I do. There's always a choice, Dean,"

Dean waved the piece of paper in Sam's face, as he held his brother down. "I'm sure some people would _love _to hear this beautiful piece of work. What about your friend Becky, eh? She would just _adore _this…"

"Okay!" Sam yelled suddenly. "I'll do it if you just GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!"

"I'm holding you to it," Dean grinned. _Revenge is sweet, baby._

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sam grunted as he stood, limply grabbing the edge of the old chair.

"Set up the board, bitch,"

"_You _set up the board!"

Dean once again waved the letter he was holding.

"Fine, fine,"

"Prepare to lose."

"You're such an ass."

"A gorgeous ass, don't you think?"

A sigh escaped Sam's lips. _I walked right into that one._

………………….

Two days later, the boys left town. Curiously enough, heads turned as the Impala made its way down the country lanes.

"Dean," Sam hissed from the passenger seat. "What if we get pulled over?"

"It's shaving cream. It comes off," Dean let out a sigh of satisfaction. "Sam?"

"_What._"

"Never try to beat me at Scrabble. In fact, don't try to beat me at anything."

Sam fumed. Dean gloated. And the car wove around winding roads, with curious rural neighbors whispering to each other. A little boy stood on the sidewalk, a ball in his hands.

"Mommy?" A woman came towards him, gardening outfit complete with a white large-brimmed hat.

"What does that word mean?"

He pointed at the Impala slowly receding into the distance, the rear windshield still visible. The mother gasped, scooping up her son and running inside.

"What is this world coming to," She muttered to herself, while fishing out her address book and cordless phone. "Jenny? You will _never _believe what I just saw…"

Written on the back of the Impala in shaving cream were these words:

DEAN IS THE GOD OF SEX

SAM IS A SORE FUCKING LOSER

As they entered the main road, Sam glanced out his window and sighed. _Lesson learned. Never insult big brother. Chaos shall ensue._

:The End:

_**Review!**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! I appreciate all the love on this story, and just for that, I made a sequel, called Monopoly Wars, which will be a two-chapter fic.**

Here's a little excerpt just for you guys, you'll have to go read the story for the rest!

"It's…it's beautiful," Dean said reverently, looking down at the table as if an angel from heaven was resting its cherub self on the surface. "It really makes you think that God exists."

Sam sat on the bed staring at the TV, quirking an eyebrow. "Dean? It's a Monopoly board."

"But seriously, how lucky do we get?" Dean lifted a finger and gently wiped off a trail of dust on the old, rotting Monopoly box. "We're stuck in the hotel tonight because of all the crappy rain, but I magically pull open the closet and find Monopoly!"

"Yeah, the Monopoly fairy must have made a special round just for you,"

"Turn off the sarcasm, Francis, you know you want to play," Dean settled himself at the table with a flourish, shaking out his arms in preparation. "Remember when we were kids and you got that Monopoly set for Christmas?"

"Yeah, whatever happened to that?" Sam intoned. "Oh, right, my big asshole brother took it to school and lost it on the bus."

"Actually, I didn't lose it, Monica Peterson asked for it and I gave it to her."

"What?" Sam sputtered, finally turning away from the TV to stare at his nonchalant brother, who was gently removing the lid from the box, wrinkling his nose at all the dust. "What the hell were you smoking?"

"Nothing, I was only like 13, I think I had my first cigarette when I was 15 but damn, that shit's nasty,"

"Oh, I didn't know you'd ever tried a cig—wait, shut up. Why did you give it to MONICA? And how do you still remember her name?"

"Wasn't she the chick you invited to your birthday party and she totally dissed you?" Dean gave a fond smile of remembrance at the memory. "She totally called you a grasshopper head, dude, I always thought your head looked like a grasshopper's too,"

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"Why'd you give it to her?"

"She asked for it."

"So you gave it to her?"

"She was hot."

"So you _gave _it to her?"

"Obviously. Good observations."

"So if some hot chick asks for the Impala, I should give it to her?"

"Dude! You didn't even notice it was missing until you were 12!"

"You didn't answer my question."

"Because you wouldn't do that."

--Please review the story after you read it, I would really appreciate it! Thanks guys!


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